


Ivan and Amelia, Sitting in a Tree

by BlommaBelle



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Dorks in Love, F/M, Fluff and Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2015-03-12
Packaged: 2018-03-03 16:03:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 19,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2856830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlommaBelle/pseuds/BlommaBelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>America is difficult to deal with. Russia is difficult to deal with. It's a match made in Heaven! Or Hell, more likely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which Ivan Says Something He Will Sincerely Regret

Russia had never seen America outright cry before. Sure, he'd seen her break down into tears a few times during her Civil War when she had been overcome with a freakish split-personality and she'd cried after Japan had attacked Pearl Harbor and after 9/11. But he'd never seen her straight out sob just for the sake of sobbing.

But that was exactly what she was doing. Quite suddenly, America had burst into tears without any warning. She sat on his couch and cried and cried and cried like a small child. It wasn't pretty crying, either. Her face was red and it looked like she had little rivers running down her cheeks.

Needless to say, he had no idea what to do. Because of his sisters, he was fully aware of the complexities of female emotions, and he was no stranger to crying thanks to Ukraine. But she cried so much that it was commonplace and it was easy to get her to stop. But America? No. She didn't cry like this, ever. And if she did, she made damn sure no one else would see it.

Several nations were over to discuss some trading deals. Thankfully, Russia was not the only one bearing witness to this very uncomfortable moment. Germany and the Italy brothers sat nearby, all of them gaping and shifting uncomfortably as America snorted when her snot began to run down her nose. England looked like he was in between yelling at her to knock it off or crying himself. France seemed to be contemplating something while Canada twitched, unsure if America would be open to being comforted.

Russia was sitting right next to her and he could feel everyone look at him expectantly, like he was expected to do something. He really wasn't sure how he could possibly be of any assistance, but he sighed. He supposed he did have the most experience when it came to calming a crying girl.

_Thanks, Ukraine,_ he thought quietly. After a moment, he tentatively placed a hand on her back.

America stiffened and looked at him, frowning. However, she just hiccupped and then buried her face in her hands, a new round of ear-splitting wails reverberating off the walls of Russia's large house.

Once upon a time, Russia had longed to see America break down like this. But now that it was happening, he couldn't believe he'd ever wanted it.

England managed to catch Russia's attention. Russia glanced up at him, frowning, and read England's lips.

_Calm her down._

Russia's eyebrows shot up. _Me?_

_Yes, you!_ England's massive eyebrows furrowed.

_You do it!_

England sighed and then stood to make an attempt. He knelt down in front of America and cleared his throat.

"Amelia, sweetheart," he said slowly. Her crying didn't get any quieter and he was forced to raise his voice. "Amelia, why don't you tell me what's got you so upset, hm? Do you want to talk about it?"

In a surprise turn of events, America mumbled, "N-no!"

Everyone was shell-shocked. America _always_ wanted to talk. The fact that she didn't want to say anything was… well, frankly, it was alarming. Russia couldn't count the many times he had cringed while America made her various seemingly trivial displeasures known to a plethora of family members, cashiers, politicians and… well, Russia himself. She was loud and made sure everyone knew everything about her.

So with this new piece of information, the room fell absolutely silent save for America's continued wailing.

"Now, Amelia, how are we supposed to help you if you won't tell us what's wrong?" England asked, his voice a bit strained. He was starting to sweat. "Do you want to speak privately? I'm willing to listen."

"No!" She shook her head furiously and Russia noticed suddenly that his hand was still resting on her back. "I don-don't wanna! Leave... _hiccup_ … leave me alone!"

"Amelia…"

" _Leave me alone!_ " Her sobbing grew in volume and England stood up, nearly yanking his hair from his head.

"OH, NOW THAT I WANT TO HELP YOU SUDDENLY DON'T WANT TO TALK?!" England stomped his foot on the ground. "SAY SOMETHING, DAMMIT!"

America glared up at him furiously, anger sparking in her blue eyes. " _Shut up, Arthur! Focus on taking care of those massive eyebrows instead of annoying the shit out of me! It looks like Chewbacca wiped his ass on your forehead!_ "

England let out a wild gasp while France burst into uproarious laughter.

"HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO HELP YOU IF YOU WON'T LET ME?" England yelled. France jumped up from his seat and attempted to drag England out of the room. "DON'T YOU WANT HELP, WOMAN?!"

After England was (forcibly) escorted out by France, everyone else was left to continue to deal with America's sobs.

Germany suddenly stood and walked forward briskly. "I've had much experience with Italy. I'm sure this will be easy."

Everyone else looked a bit doubtful. Germany cleared his throat.

"Now, now," he said awkwardly as he stiffly patted her head. "Stop this crying. It's foolish."

Faster than a bolt of lightning, America punched Germany swiftly in the stomach. Germany let out a loud whoosh of air and crumbled a bit. Italy dragged him back to the couch to sit down and catch his breath while Romano snickered.

"Maybe… maybe I can help?" Canada piped up. No one looked at him as he walked over and nervously mumbled, "Um… Mia? Can you please stop crying? Please?"

America didn't so much as react and neither did anyone else. Canada continued to plead, not that anyone noticed or heard.

Russia sighed, realizing that he was their last hope, as strange as it was. He began to rub soothing circles on her back and repeated quietly that everything was going to be okay.

To everyone's shock, America's crying began to subside. She leaned into Russia and relaxed, her sobs becoming nothing more than sniffles. With red-rimmed eyes, she looked up at him and smiled sweetly.

"Thanks, Ivan." She blew her nose on a tissue that Romano offered her. "I feel much better now."

Russia smiled and said, without thinking, "So, your period's pretty bad this month, huh?"

He was swiftly knocked unconscious. When Russia woke up, he was in a snowbank in Siberia wearing a Captain America t-shirt with the words "I'M AN INSENSITIVE ASS" written in permanent marker on his forehead.

It was at that moment that Russia realized he might have said the wrong thing.


	2. In Which America Smacks Her Gum

Russia tightened his grip on his pen as he glanced at America, annoyed. For some reason she had decided to sit next to him for the meeting rather than by England and Canada, like she usually would. He had noticed her bickering with the Englishman earlier but hadn't bothered to listen in on what they were saying. All he knew was that when the argument had been over, America had stomped over to the other side of the table, grabbed China by the collar of his shirt and dumped him unceremoniously on the floor before sliding into the seat. China, annoyed but not exactly in the mood for a black eye, grumbled and went to sit by England.

So now Russia was stuck sitting next to America, which wouldn't have been so terrible if it weren't for the fact that she was smacking her gum. Loud. In his ear.

It was hard enough to pay attention during these meetings. Usually the most interesting topic that they covered was the weather. So the fact that America was popping her gum so close to his ear was making it all the more difficult to pay attention to Iceland's speech about his country's economic advancements.

… _smack, smack, smack_ …

"…by about fifteen percent last year, and that's estimated to double this year considerably. I think we should be nearing…"

… _smack, smack, smack_ …

"…the possibility of a recession is slim, though efforts to decrease this possibility are being implemented by…"

… _smack, smack, POP!_

Russia couldn't take it anymore. Now she was blowing massive bubbles. He stood up so quickly his chair flew back and he whirled on America who seemed more or less unperturbed by his sudden movements. Everyone else gasped and Poland even let out a feminine shriek and England cursed.

America regarded Russia calmly. "Wassup?" _Smack, smack, smack_ …

"Would you please stop chewing your gum so loudly?" Russia asked as calmly as he could. He could feel the dark energy beginning to form around him.

_Smack, smack, smack_ … "What are you talking about?"

"You're smacking your gum," he replied. "In my ear. While I'm trying to listen. Could you… not?"

She raised her eyebrows. "I am? Sorry, dude. I'll keep it on the D.L., know what I'm saying?"

Russia had no idea what she was saying, but he got the gist of it. He sat down and calmly began taking notes. Everyone else relaxed and went back to the meeting.

"Um…" Iceland shuffled through his papers, trying to find where he had left off. "Let's see… ah, this should boost the world economy greatly. By increasing…"

… _smack, smack, smack_ …

Oh, no. No, no, no. NYET.

… _smack, smack, smack_ …

Russia's grip tightened on his pen so hard that it broke. Ink splattered on the table and his notes. Iceland fell silent as Russia slowly stood, turning to glare at America.

She stared at him, still smacking her damn gum. "What?"

"You're still doing it."

"I am?"

" _Da_."

"Oh. Tough luck, dude."

"Tough… luck?"

"Yeah. As in I just put this piece of gum in my mouth, and the fruity flavor is giving me a mouthgasm. If you want to get this gum out of my mouth, you'll have to reach in and grab it." She laughed. _Smack, smack, smack_ …

Russia gave her a dark look. "That can be arranged."

America narrowed her eyes at him when he suddenly lunged forward and tackled her out of her chair and onto the ground. She gasped and kicked him in the stomach, making him grunt from the force of it. He was jostled off of her enough so she could spin onto her stomach and attempt to army crawl away.

Russia moved fast. He grabbed her around the waist and dragged her back. Sitting up, he brought her with him, wrapping his legs around her and then pinning her arms to her side with one hand while gripping her chin with the other.

The craziest part was that the entire time this went down, she was still smacking her damn gum.

"That wasn't an invitation, you creep!" When Russia tried to shove his fingers past her lips, America bit him hard enough to draw blood. She sputtered and spat while Russia yanked his hand away from her. He was surprised enough to loosen his hold, causing her to squirm out of his lap.

"Dammit!" She spit her gum out and it landed in France's hair, much to the delight of England and horror of the poor Frenchman. "You ruined my gum! I should shoot you in the face!"

"You nearly bit my finger off." Russia had torn off Lithuania's shirt and was using it as a sort of bandage. "But at least you are not smacking your gum anymore."

America glared at him. Germany was quick to try to calm everyone down. They all sat, even Russia, who was still pressing Lithuania's shirt to the bite that little she-demon had…

There was a rustling of what sounded suspiciously like a wrapper. Russia turned his head a little and felt his stomach bottom out and his mind become consumed by fiery rage. She was popping another piece of radioactive pink gum into her mouth.

_Smack, smack, smack_ …

Oh, dear God, no.

… _smack, smack, smack_ …

Russia was not going through this again. Without another word, he whirled around in his chair, leaned over, and kissed her.

America's eyes flew wide and a collective gasp was heard. Russia felt victorious as she let out a surprised gasp and he quickly took advantage of her now-open mouth. Sliding his tongue in, he fished around until he found it.

Perfect. Scooping up the gum, he slid his tongue out and then pulled away. He gave her a smug look and then turned back to the meeting, chewing the gum. America had gone white as a sheet and was gaping at him like a kid who had just walked in on their parents.

Russia smiled at everyone else sweetly and chewed quietly on his gum. "Da, I think we can continue now."


	3. In Which America Plays Footsie

Bored. Bored, bored, bored. America was more bored than two bored things at a Bored Convention. World Meetings sucked more than a thirsty mosquito trapped in a tent.

And it looked like she was the only one who was bored, too, much to her bored amazement. Germany, as always, was studiously taking notes and nodding his head in agreement or dissent. England was basically doing the same while France was half-listening as he checked his hair for split ends. Even the Italy brothers were listening, although North Italy was eating pasta and South Italy was occasionally smacking Spain on the arm for shifting his seat a little too close. Russia wasn't taking notes, but he was nodding ever so often while he listened.

While not everyone was listening, they were keeping themselves entertained. Ugh, the meeting wasn't even about anything interesting. It was all about some stupid stuff she didn't care about, like economics stuff and population density or whatever.

America tried to get England's attention. Maybe he could keep her entertained. She kicked his foot under the table and he jumped, turning to glare at her.

_What?_ he mouthed, his brow furrowed in annoyance.

_I'm bored_ , she replied.

_Oh? That's not my problem._

She pouted. _But Artie! This is so lame!_

He just shook his head and turned his attention back to the meeting. America stuck out her lower lip and continued to stare at him, but no matter how long she stared, he didn't so much as spare her a glance.

Well, fine. If he wouldn't entertain her, she would make him entertain her. A mean little idea formed in her mind and she suppressed a giggle. She was going to make him SO regret ignoring her.

America let her foot wander over to his. She teasingly toed him a little, letting her foot rub against his in a sort of sensual manner.

England didn't even look at her, though he did kick her. She recoiled a bit, surprised by how strong his kick had been, but that just made her return with more tenacity. Her foot made its way up his ankle and began its ascent to his knee.

Once more, she was kicked, but she didn't move back this time. Biting back a nasty grin, she had to wonder why England didn't appear to be reacting at all. His attention was fully focused on China, who was yammering on about foreign trading or something equally as boring.

She decided to double her efforts. Playing with his knee momentarily, she let her foot move up his inner thigh. She was getting very close to the gold. By the gold, she meant his penis.

_He's got some amazing acting skills_ , she thought, biting her tongue a little in concentration. She grinned when he squeezed his legs together, trying to keep her away from her destination.

_No one can stop America!_ She sank a little in her seat to reach farther. Canada, who was sitting beside her, stared at his sister with some confusion as she continued to lower in her seat until only her eyes were visible above the table.

Using her strength and her newfound leverage, she pried his legs open and grinned. Jackpot.

Still, there was no reaction from England. She frowned and began to rub with some more determination. Jesus, what does it take to get this guy going? She had to say, she did not envy France. It must've been a real bitch to get Arthur to do any sexytimes if he didn't get turned on by, like, anything. Who could possibly resist her?

Suddenly her foot fell as the lap was pulled away. America frowned and peeked up at England. He hadn't moved, though. But…

Her eyes widened when she saw that Russia was standing and glaring at her, his face bright red. He didn't just look pissed, he looked livid. Sitting up a bit in her seat, she flinched when he began to yell at her in Russian. Only a few countries, including herself, could understand what he was saying, and none of it was nice.

The meeting had fallen silent. Russia stormed out, still yelling. Finally, everyone turned to glare at America.

"What the bloody hell did you do?" England demanded. "Don't tell me you took your boredom out on Russia of all people!"

America winced a little. "Um… I may have played footsie with him because I thought he was you. I was doing it because you wouldn't entertain me!"

England gaped at her like a fish out of water. "Where did I go wrong with you?!"

"More like where did you go right?" France asked, chuckling. "Oh, dear _Amérique_! I am so proud of you!"


	4. In Which Russia Gets Some

"My turn!" America squealed. Several countries looked more than a little excited at the prospect of being able to make out with America, despite her obnoxious behavior. She grabbed the bottle and spun it hard enough so that it was nothing more than a blur. "Oh, boy!"

Sitting in the circle, against his will, mind you, was Russia. But he couldn't help but eye the bottle with interest and sort of hope that it landed on him. He wouldn't mind spending seven minutes alone with America in a closet.

The bottle began to slow and everyone was much quieter. England stood over America's shoulder, fully ready to glare at whoever it was that was going to defile his little sister.

The bottle slowed… and slowed… and slowed… and stopped. On Lithuania.

America let out a cheer and clapped her hands together while Lithuania turned bright red. "Aw, yeah! Toris, looks like you're the lucky winner!"

Russia had been sitting by Lithuania and felt rather… well, cheated. He turned to face his old "friend" and could feel his dark aura starting to show.

"Congratulations, Toris," Russia said, his innocent smile promising bloodshed. "It looks like you are the chosen one."

Lithuania began to shake. In a very not-discreet way, he kicked the bottle so that it turned just a little and pointed at Russia instead.

"Oh, I-I think there's been a mis-mistake!" he said, pointing at the bottle with a shaky finger. "It la-landed on Mr. R-Russia! Not m-me!"

"Oh! It did?" Russia's dark aura went away and he turned his innocent smile to America. "How silly of everyone to make the same mistake."

America and England eyed Russia quietly. England really wanted to bury the Russian alive, but considering it was Russia… he backed off a bit, mindful to shoot him a dirty look as he made his way into France's kitchen, mumbling about drinking some wine. France followed eagerly, knowing that wine tended to make England slutty.

"Let us be getting this show on the road, da?" Russia stood and yanked America to her feet, corralling her into the closet. He shut the door, giving everyone a victorious smile that said I don't care how much time passes, do NOT open this door.

And then he shut it.

His mind gave him a good mental picture of exactly how America would look in this situation. Cowering in a corner, perhaps, her blue eyes wide and innocent, her expression almost scared, and definitely submissive. Yes, she would be—

When Russia turned, he was shocked to see America casually poking through France's personal items, apparently uncaring that she was trapped in a small, dark closet with a terrifying sadist.

"Oh, who would've guessed old Francy-Pants would be a hoarder, huh?" She yanked out a dirty magazine and laughed. "Ha! Ivan, check this, it's, like, a bajillion years old. They're hardly even showing their ankles! Ha!"

Russia pouted at first, but upon hearing her address him, he smiled and walked over. He peered at the magazine in passing before he saw something a little more interesting. "Is that a dress?"

America looked up and frowned as she pulled it off the hanger. "Yeah, it is. What the hell does he have a dress in here for? It looks like it's not even cut for a woman… oh. Oh, God! This is for a man!"

She then fell into a fit of giggles and was reaching into her pocket for something. She took a picture of the dress and then began to frantically text someone.

"Mathias and Gil are going to die," she chortled. "Actually, Gil probs already knew about this. Whatevs."

Russia shifted a little impatiently. " _Amerika_ , not that going through other people's things isn't fun, but do you think we could use our time in here wisely?"

"What? Oh! You wanna get some!" She smiled and tossed her phone aside carelessly. While Russia had been hoping for a little innocent-girl act, he didn't get one. Instead he was met with a vixen. She backed him up until he hit the door and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Let's see… how much time do we have left?"

Russia gulped. "Um… four minutes."

"Plenty of time," she purred. Then, much to Russia's delight, she pounced.

***

"Alright, their bloody time is up!" England announced angrily. He drunkenly flung the door open and gaped at the sight before him.

America was buttoning up Russia's shirt. Both of them looked beyond disheveled, and England noticed that Russia had… were those bite marks on him? What the hell?!

Plus, Russia looked _way_ too satisfied. And America looked _way_ too pleased with herself.

"What the bloody hell were you two doing in here?" England slurred. "You! Russia! You better not have defiled my sister, you brute!"

"Oh, contraire, Iggy," America sing-songed. " _I_ defiled _him_. I'm going to help him home, I think I wore him out."


	5. In Which Russia and America Make a Scandalous Deal

America let out a horrified shriek that she quickly tried to change into a laugh. "Woah! Totally lame, am I right, Creeper?"

Russia, meanwhile, trailed behind her, looking so annoyed that even the employees trying to scare them wouldn't approach him. Some of them even wondered if he was a new hire or something he looked so terrifying.

" _Da_ , it is as you say, _Amaliji_. 'Totally lame'."

Laughing in agreement, she let out another scream as some man in a second-rate Freddy Krueger outfit popped out of nowhere, waving his knifed-up hand in America's face. Her scream was loud enough to make Russia flinch.

Why did I agree to come to Spooktown with her again? He rolled his eyes as America grabbed his arm and dragged him along, trembling and clearly terrified out of her mind.

She had shown up at his place the day before, jumping around excitedly as she shoved a flier into his gloved hands. She had then babbled endlessly about a new haunted attraction in town that she wanted to check out. She had then informed him that Japan was busy in a meeting with South Korea and couldn't come and England had told her he was spending the day with Norway and Romania and wouldn't have come if he had free time anyway.

When Russia had asked whether or not she had questioned Canada to go with, she had looked at him blankly and asked him who that was. By the time she finally asked, however, Russia had forgotten who he was talking about and quickly denied her.

"Aw, please?!" she had whined, sticking her foot in the doorway to keep it from shutting. "Please come with me? No one else will goooooo!"

"I have no interest in doing something so stupid. Go away or I will tell Belarus that you are harassing me."

America then dropped to her knees, shooting Russia the best puppy eyes she could manage. They were the cutest damn puppy eyes he'd ever seen in his life and he felt his resolve waning a bit.

"If you come with me I'll let you… I'll… I'll let you touch my boobs!"

Now that definitely had his interest. "How long?"

She seemed a bit taken aback, but she quickly scrambled to her feet and grinned. "Uh… twenty seconds good?"

"Do I get to squeeze them at all?"

"Twice."

This was definitely interesting. "Under or over the bra?"

"Um…" America blushed. "I don't usually wear bras. Too confining. I like to be free falling, if you get me."

That was all it had taken for Russia to quickly agree and join her the next day at this so-called Spooktown, but as far as he could tell, it was about the most half-witted operation he had yet to witness in America, and he had been in that stupid children's restaurant with the mechanical singing mouse. America had once stupidly thrown England a surprise birthday there.

And now he was walking through one of the attractions—'Frightmare House'—with America hanging off of him and faking at being unafraid.

How pathetic.

But still, the allure of touching America's "free-falling" boobs was not something he was willing to stick his nose up at.

After several hours of going through the different haunted attractions—his favorite being 'Hillbilly Hotel' because he thought it rather well portrayed the average American citizen—America finally broke down in the 'Clown Maze' and fled the park.

Russia found her waiting by her car, acting as if she hadn't just shrieked, "THE POWER OF CHRIST COMPELS YOU!" at a man in a clown costume loud enough for everyone within a fifty kilometer radius to hear before she fled. Russia had seen twelve-year-olds in that park, and none of them had even looked remotely scared.

"Haha, that was so stupid, am I right?" America clapped her hands and shook her head. "Well, hopefully they've got something better next time. Anyway, as promised, the purple mountains majesties are here for you to fondle!"

She then stuck out her chest and grinned proudly as Russia eyed her chest with interest before shaking his head.

"I will collect soon enough, but later," he said when her expression became crestfallen and slightly offended. "I just need to be mentally prepared."

"Ah, yeah, I bet the awesomeness would be too much to handle without some serious meditation or whatever." America then got into the car and Russia followed with a tiny smirk on his face.

***

Yet another stupid world meeting was taking place, and this year they were in Vienna. Everyone was chatting amongst themselves before the meeting actually started, and Russia watched America closely as she shoved chips into her mouth, laughing at something France was saying to England. Japan stood next to her, smiling as well and glancing at America almost worriedly, like he was afraid she was going to choke if she didn't slow down.

Russia stood abruptly from his seat and walked over, a small smile on his face as he made his way over to the four of them. Upon seeing him, England and France's eyes widened. Sensing something, Japan also turned.

True to form, America didn't notice a damn thing outside of her chips. Not until Russia tapped her shoulder, anyway.

"Wassat?" America turned and then smiled. "Oh, hey, dude. Judging by the rape face, I'd say you're here to collect?"

" _Da_."

Without any other preamble, Russia pulled his gloves off and tossed them aside, then slid his hands up her shirt. A very satisfied smile came over his face and America just casually continued to eat.

Once England managed to get over the shock, he let out a high-pitched shriek. "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing, you pervert?!"

England began to fumble for some kind of weapon (they had been banned from meetings during the Cold War for obvious reasons) while France and Japan just sort of watched, unsure of what to think given how little of a reaction this was getting from America.

"Relax, Iggy, Ivan and I have a thing," she said. "Japan, could you grab my Coke? I'm kinda tied down for a few more seconds—"

"Thirteen more seconds," Russia replied, giving her boobs a squeeze. He grinned at the tiny 'eep' America made.

"Thirteen more… what the bloody hell is this?!" England looked about ready to really lose it. "What 'thing'? What's happening?! Why does _he_ look so happy?" This last part was directed at Russia.

"Obviously, he is clutching Amerique's ample bosom. How can he not be happy?" France asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

"This may be a good humor scene for a doujinshi I have been stuck on," Japan murmured, excusing himself quickly to get down some preliminary sketches and dialogue before the muses cut him off.

"Three… two… and one," America announced. Russia gave one more squeeze and then removed his hands and put his gloves back on. "Alrighty, then, see ya! Oh, and thanks!"

"Of course, Amelia. Anytime." Russia winked and headed back to his seat.

"What just happened?!" England halfway roared as America turned her attention back to them. "Why did that wanker just start molesting you?!"

America frowned. "Did Japan ever get my Coke…? Eh, figures."

"Are you ignoring me?!"

America sighed and rolled her eyes. "Jesus, Iggy, he just grabbed my boobs is all!"

"That's my point!" England rubbed his temples as France smiled and gave America a thumbs-up. "Good God, what I am supposed to do with you? And his face! I mean, that man is terrifying normally, but that look isn't one I'd care to see again!"

"Oh, he probably looked all hot and bothered and rape-y because I let my sweet chariots swing low today." America shrugged. "Anyway, looks like meeting's getting started."

She ambled off and left England to frown and wondering what she was talking about. France, of course, knew immediately.

"Honononon~! I did not know that _Amérique_ was so scandalous!"

It was then that England realized what she had meant. "I… I'm going home. I give up. I give up on life and logic and… everything. I'm gone."


	6. In Which Russia and America Act Like Children

America and Russia leisurely strolled into the World Meeting side-by-side, America talking endlessly about the latest episode of Game of Thrones while Russia simply nodded and smiled despite the fact that he had no clue what she was talking about.

And Russia grew bored. Very, very bored. Sure, he liked listening to her talk and talk and talk for hours upon hours just as much as the next country. He probably liked it more than most because her endless talking gave him a lot to laugh about considering how borderline stupid she could be. He had never met someone with such a rampant case of diarrhea of the mouth in his entire existence. Seeing her make a complete ass of herself—and what's more, not even realizing how stupid she sounded—had provided Russia with countless hours of entertainment. He often would find himself chuckling about it at strange moments, days after the fact.

Here he was, listening to her babble, and she wasn't even saying anything particularly stupid. It was sorely disappointing, which might have been why he childishly lashed out by suddenly sticking his foot out and tripping her as they crossed the threshold into the meeting room.

America fell gloriously. She didn't just stumble and land on her knees or flop back gracefully on her butt, either. It was a full-on, arms-flailing, airborne one minute, face-planted into the carpet the next fall. Like a tree toppling in the forest and landing with a purposeful slam on the ground. The best part was the fact that she had been carrying a milkshake, as per usual, and it was sent flying all over England.

It was like watching a sitcom. Russia threw back his head and laughed uproariously as England sputtered, trying to use France's coat to wipe the milkshake off himself (the Frenchman sobbed as his suede jacket was marred by the stuff). America, meanwhile, groaned and managed to fumble to her feet. After getting her bearings, she turned to level him with a glare.

"What the poop was that?!" America demanded. "You don't just _trip_ people!"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Amerika. I believe, as usual, you only have yourself to blame for your problems." Russia shrugged indifferently as he made his way to his seat. "You tripped over your own two elephant feet. Pay attention next time."

America seethed and slunk to her seat, revenge already beginning to formulate in her mind. But Russia wasn't too worried about it. America was one French fry short of a Happy Meal, really. Whatever she threw at him, he was confident he could take it.

***

America's revenge wasn't entirely elaborate or even clever, but it was effective. The day after her graceless face plant (and the unceremonious demise of her strawberry milkshake, R.I.P.), she hid behind the doors of the world meeting room and waited for Russia to come.

Once she heard his stupid voice, she waited until he had come close enough and then stuck her foot out.

Russia, naturally, tripped. He stumbled a bit and ended up landing with his face smashing against the table of the world meeting room before he flopped like a beached whale on the ground. Everyone looked annoyed, readying their ears for the shouting match that was sure to follow.

America threw her head back and laughed, the sound of it echoing off the walls of the meeting room as Russia got to his feet, smoothing down his coat in annoyance.

"Suck my lady dick, Russia!" America pumped a fist in the air and winked. "This round goes to the hero!"

Of course, Russia couldn't just leave this little predicament alone. America would certainly not get the last laugh. Not if he could help it.

***

The next day, America and Russia once more began to head for the meeting room together, cordially talking like nothing had happened. America, for once, had no food or fatty beverages at hand. She was fiddling with the zipper of her jacket as she went on and on about how boring the meetings had been ever since Ludwig had banned her from bringing any sort of portable gaming system with her. He had even begun to check to see if her cell phone was turned off after he had caught her in a rousing game of solitaire.

Russia waited until she seemed most spirited and therefore distracted. Jutting his foot out, he grinned, but his stomach dropped when America deftly jumped up and gave him a shit-eating grin. She landed gracefully and patted his head, her expression so smug that Russia wanted to cover her face with a plastic bag or something.

"Gotta try harder next time, Goliath Nose." America infuriatingly patted his head and then made to saunter off.

She didn't get far, however, because Russia elbowed her in the gut. Hard.

A whoosh of air escaped her lungs sharply and she found herself stumbling back, landing on her butt with all the grace of a turtle turned upside down on its shell. Russia once more went into hysterics until America launched herself at him, her fingers curling around his throat.

The two of them tussled until Germany stumbled across them. He had gone looking for the two of them, considering they were two minutes late for the meeting. He was fairly certain he couldn't have possibly been less surprised to see them in such a state and eventually managed to pry America off Russia and escorted them both roughly into the meeting.

"I don't care vhat you two do outside these meetings," Germany snarled as they entered the meeting room. "But you are running two minutes late. Save your issues for later! That's an order!"

America's face scrunched up and she mimicked Germany, crossing her eyes at the back of his head when he turned away. Russia snorted and the two of them sat down, ignoring the glares and uneasy looks as they settled back.

During the meeting, America and Russia kicked each other under the table until Russia was sure he was going to have a massive bruise and England chastised America harshly when she stuck her tongue out at Russia during the meeting on childish impulse when he had said he didn't want to fund her expedition to dig for the underground City of Mole People, whatever the hell that was.

After the meeting, the two stood up and America lightly punched his arm.

"Hey." America grinned. "I'm gonna spend the next few hours harassing England and I could use your help. You in?"

"Da, of course, you don't even have to ask."

The two walked out of the meeting room, chummy as ever, while everyone else looked on, thoroughly confused. When they thought too long about how those two really felt for each other, it tended to hurt the brain.


	7. In Which America Cooks for Russia

As it turned out, America had been affected by England's utter uselessness in the kitchen more than anyone had thought. And in a matter of seconds, Russia would come to know this fact intimately.

And like England, America had no clue just how terrible she was at cooking. Oh, sure, her food didn't explode or smell so badly that the house needed to be evacuated or anything quite so bad (France claimed that once, someone had called the police to get to England's house because his food smelled so badly that someone thought there was a body rotting in the place). It was tolerable sometimes-she was pretty good at making hamburgers and hotdogs and anything on a grill. Luckily for everyone, this is typically what she wanted to eat, so it was typically what she made if she didn't just run out to McDonald's.

But that day she had decided to show Russia some of her appreciation after he had squashed a big spider she had found in her house. Despite being a hero, America was a girl and had an intense hatred for anything with more than four legs. Unable to bring herself to kill the spider that was chilling out in the corner of her bedroom, America had decided to call in the heavy artillery. Russia had originally said no, but after she had said there was a "reward" in it for him, he had been curious enough to come over to see just what she had in mind. He had decided to take Lithuania with, just in case America tried something funny.

After Russia had successfully vanquished the spider, America had ushered him and Lithuania into the dining room. She made an awful lot of noise in her kitchen and then came out with two plates piled high with mush.

"I made this with 97 ingredients," America said eagerly, placing a plate in front of Lithuania and then another one in front of Russia. "Actually, 98 ingredients! The final ingredient is _love!_ "

Lithuania blushed and Russia rolled his eyes. Both of them then examined their plates warily, unsure what to think of the smoking slop she had decided to serve them.

" _Amerika_ … what is this?" Russia finally asked, poking at the mush with his fork. The food actually let out a tiny hiss and Russia jumped back, a bit startled, dropping his fork onto the table.

"I call it 'hot mash with water and stuff'." America puffed out her chest proudly. "It's made with hot mash, water and stuff. I threw some grits in there, coriander, a splash of Budweiser…"

As she continued to list everything off, Russia couldn't help but think that, yes, America had made this 'hot mash with water and stuff' with 97 ingredients, but he was fairly certain that not a single one of those ingredients was good.

"...mayonnaise and some pepperoni off of my leftover pizza from last night," she finished. She looked between Russia and Lithuania eagerly, waiting for them to eat. "Go on! Eat up!"

Russia and Lithuania exchanged looks and begrudgingly took a bite. Lithuania immediately began coughing… no, hacking was probably a better term for what he was doing. He quickly grabbed his glass of water and began to chug it as he sweated profusely.

Meanwhile, Russia sat there and glared at the remaining 'hot mash with water and stuff' on his plate, his dark aura projecting itself furiously. "Kolkolkolkolkol…"

A sudden choked sound from America caused Lithuania to stop drinking and Russia fell silent, turning to look at her.

The look America had on her face was downright heartbroken. She had a hand placed on her heart and looked prepared to throw herself woefully onto the ground in a fit of self-pity.

"You… you guys don't like it, do you?" America whimpered. She casted them the most heartbreaking kicked-puppy look either of them had seen and immediately picked up their forks to begin shovelling the food down.

"No, I love it, da!" Russia said around a mouthful of mush. He fought his natural gag reflex as tears began to pour of his eyes.

"You do?!" America hopped up and down, clapping, before casting him a suspicious look. "Then why are you crying?"

"Be-because…" Russia trailed off, trying not to choke. "Because I am so touched… by your kindness. It is simply overwhelming, da. That's it."

"Awww!" America actually leaned over to kiss Russia's cheek before she looked over at Lithuania curiously. "Hey, why is _he_ crying?"

Sure enough, Lithuania looked on the brink of full-on sobbing. However, he managed the most pitiful smile anyone had ever seen and gave a shaky thumbs up. "My eyes are… oh, ugh… uh, filled with tears of joy. I have never tasted such…" Lithuania paused, trying not to vomit, before continuing, "... such a delicacy before."

Russia and Lithuania managed to eventually finish their slop and leave, though not before hurling in some rose bushes on their way out.

The worst part of it all, though, was that America had sent them off with leftovers and promises of cooking for them in the future.


	8. In Which America Tries to be Nice to Russia

It was halfway through the first half of the World Meeting when America remembered something her boss had told her.

"Make sure to be nice to Russia," he'd said. "After that stunt you pulled at the last meeting I've had everyone's bosses calling me because they were afraid we were at war!"

'The stunt', as her boss had so fondly put it, had been a mere accident. France had given America some cheese to try, as she was more often than not an eager guinea pig for his many entrées, and she had been yelled at by Germany for trying to eat in the meeting room. With no room in her bag, she had decided to slip it into Russia's briefcase for safekeeping just in case there were any cheese thieves planning on swiping her grub. Unfortunately, she had completely forgotten she had put it there and Russia, being none the wiser, had brought his briefcase into his hotel room where the cheese sat overnight and stank up the floor he was staying on by the next morning.

Naturally, any food-related crises were immediately blamed on America, who everyone knew had food on her at all times, and Russia had been quick to point the finger of shame in her direction. America had tried to explain herself, but he wouldn't hear it. Their blaming turned to bickering, and then that turned into a massive argument that ended with the both of them prepared for a duel to the death. Thankfully, they were talked down before anything like that could happen, but the incident had so shaken up the nations who had witnessed it that bosses were called, verbal warnings were given, and America had been informed that she had to make a point to be nice to Russia to assure everyone that in no way was the United States at war with Russia over an incident of stinky cheese.

America wasn't sure how to be nice to Russia and not come off as creepy or insincere. Of course, she was insincere in being nice to him, unless it was to compliment his creepiness, but luckily she was just charming enough to usually get away with blatantly lying to someone's face.

Still. What was she supposed to do to let Russia—and the world—know that they were cool? Serenade him? Maybe hold the door open for him or something? Buy him a puppy?

Finally, America decided to just do whatever felt right in the moment and looked around the meeting room for Russia. She spotted him several seats away and glanced at Switzerland, who was yammering something about shooting anyone who turned up at his place unannounced or whatever, and then attempted to get his attention.

"Psst. Russia."

Canada, who was sitting beside her, glanced at America curiously. America ignored him.

"PSST. PSST! RUSSIA! DUDE!" America managed to garner the attention of Prussia, who sat beside Canada, and England, who was sitting on her other side. All of them looked both perplexed and annoyed by her distractions. "RUUUUUSSSSSSSIIIIIAAAAAA—"

"America!" Switzerland snapped. America jumped in her seat and Prussia snorted at her look of surprise. "Be quiet! Whatever you have to say can wait until it's your turn to speak!"

"But—"

"Amelia, just hold your tongue for once, please," England snapped. America shot him a look and slumped down in her seat, pouting at the table.

Switzerland once again started talking and America pouted in silence for a few minutes before she straightened up, having figured out the very nice thing she was going to say to Russia. With renewed vigor, she attempted to once again garner his attention.

Yanking the straw out from her cup of Coke, she ripped out a piece of notebook paper and then tore off a little piece and stuck it in her mouth. Chewing it up a bit, she then lifted the straw to her mouth and shot the spit wad at the back of Russia's head.

Russia jumped and gasped, turning around, looking both surprised and furious. Upon seeing it was America, he glared and then turned back around to listen to Switzerland before America could tell him the nice thing.

"Dammit," she mumbled, ripping off another piece of paper. America shot another spitball at him, but this time, Russia didn't turn around. Grunting, America shot another one. And another one. And another. And then two at the same time. And then another one, this one accompanied by her whispering his name again.

Every time America shot another spitball, England would grimace and elbow her while Canada would just turn away and gag. It wasn't until America misfired and hit Canada with a spitball, thus causing Canada to flee the meeting room, gagging the whole way, that everyone else noticed.

"For the love of God!" Switzerland snapped. "That's disgusting! What are you, five?!"

"How inelegant!" France sniffed. "Perhaps if the man who raised her wasn't a pirate, she wouldn't behave like such a hooligan, oui?"

"Want to say that to my face, frog?!" England snarled, standing and rolling up like he was ready to fight. France sniffed and turned away, as if this argument were beneath him, which only served to further anger England.

"Everyone shut up!" Germany snarled, standing up in his seat. "England and France, I will not tolerate another fight breaking out! America, stop with the spitballs before someone throws up! Switzerland, continue with your presentation!"

Everyone became quiet as Germany sat down. Meanwhile, Switzerland once again started speaking and Russia angrily began yanking drying spitballs from his hair.

Well, things were certainly not going as well as America had hoped, really. In fact, this whole situation made her look like the villain, and she was a hero, dammit!

"Fine," she muttered, opening her notebook again.

_Russia—_

_I have something important to tell you._

_—America_

America leaned over, handing the note to Prussia, who raised an eyebrow at her curiously. America pointed at Russia and watched as Prussia passed the note to Romano, who passed the note to Spain, who passed the note to Russia. Russia opened the note and sighed before he crumpled it up and tossed it into the trash. America gasped and then quickly scribbled another note.

_RUSSIA YOU BASTARD—_

_I AM TRYING TO BE NICE YOU ASSTURD._

Once more, the note was passed from Prussia to Romano to Spain to Russia. Russia sighed heavily before reading the note and, once again, crumpling it up and throwing it into the trash.

Alright, fine, if that was how he wanted to play it. America stood up, slamming her hands on the table, causing Switzerland to once again stop talking. Everyone turned to look at her including, finally, Russia.

"I have something very important and very nice to say to Russia!" America announced. She pointed at him and smirked. "Here is my nice thing I am saying because we are friends and not fighting! Russia: those pants make your butt look drool-worthy sexy!"

Everyone was quiet and Russia's face rapidly turned bright red. He seemed to attempt to bury himself into his scarf while America laughed, head thrown back, proud of her kindness.

Eventually everything calmed down and America was told to sit in the corner with her back to everyone else until she could behave. She had whined and even shed a few tears, but that all proved to be futile. Canada returned, still a bit green in the face, and the meeting had continued.

As it turned out, America's 'kindness' was technically both plain old harassment and harassment of the sexual kind thanks to her comment about his butt. It didn't seem like Russia really minded, though, considering after the incident, he wore the pants America liked as often as possible.


	9. In Which America Drunk Dials Russia

Apparently, America was out drinking with Denmark and Prussia again. The only reason Russia knew this was because he had been drunk dialed after midnight, roused from his peaceful slumber by the annoying trill of his phone. Since it could have very well been his boss, he knew he had to answer.

The light from his screen was so bright that Russia found it too painful to check the caller I.D., although he wished he did when he heard who was talking on the other line.

" _Privyet_."

"Haaaalllloooooo loser!" It was Prussia's voice, and when Russia pulled the phone back to check the caller I.D., he saw it was America's number. "Who is this?"

Prussia's words were slightly slurred, which meant he had been drinking a lot. Russia had found himself minorly impressed on a few (very few) occasions with the former nation at the amount of liquor he could handle.

"You called me but you do not know who I am, comrade?"

Apparently, the dots still hadn't connected. Prussia's voice got a bit distant and Russia could hear noisy bar sounds in the background as Prussia shouted, "Hey, Mia, who the hell is 'Vanya'?"

She had him listed in her phone as Vanya? How interesting.

"What?" America's voice sounded from somewhere a bit distant. There was also a distinct Southern twang to her accent that she usually got whenever she drank too much whiskey. "Whaddaya talkin' bout?"

"Vanya," Prussia repeated. "Who the hell is Vanya?"

Russia smiled when he heard her given an alarmed shriek. There were some wrestling noises, followed by Prussia loudly swearing before America was on the phone.

"Um, sorry, wrong number," she said. Russia raised an eyebrow in amusement—it sounded like she was attempting to poorly disguise her voice by pinching her nose to give it a nasally quality. She then quickly hung up.

"Idiot," Russia mumbled, falling back asleep. However, nearly fifteen minutes later, his phone went off once more. Groaning, he answered. "What?"

"You're the worst!" America's voice suddenly shouted into the phone. It was so loud that Russia had to pull it away from his ear. "You're the worst and you're awful and terrible!"

"That seems a bit redundant," Russia replied calmly. America wasn't listening, though, as she continued with her drunken tirade.

"You're gross!" she went on. "And so is your butt!"

With that, she hung up.

Russia scowled, annoyed, and then laid back down. His head barely hit the pillow when his phone went off again. He knew perfectly well he could just ignore it, but that would probably somehow backfire. Ignoring America always backfired. Last time he had ignored one of her phone calls she had put some dog crap under the handle of the driver's side door of his car. He did not want a repeat of that.

"What now?"

"I wasn't hugged enough as a child, that's why I said your butt was gross," she replied forlornly. "It's not gross. It's a nice butt."

"That is very considerate of you. We can discuss it further later after I get some sleep."

"Fine. What do you want?"

Russia frowned. " _You_ called _me_ , comrade. Should I not be the one asking that question?"

"Oh."

There was a long pause before Russia sighed.

"You have nothing of significance to say as usual, do you, Amerika?"

America let out a huff of air. "You think you're soooo cool, but you're about as cool as a cucumber!"

"Is that not a good thing?"

"No! Because cucumbers are the most boring vegetable EVER."

America hung up and then called again before Russia could even put the phone down. "WHAT?!"

"I lied, celery is way more boring. Unless there's peanut butter on it."

"Are you saying peanut butter would make me more exciting?"

"Maybe…" America's tone was terribly thoughtful and she fell silent for a few long moments until she suddenly started crying. "It's all your fault!"

Russia was starting to panic a bit. Crying girls, regardless of who they were, did not sit well with him. "What?!"

" _Everything_ is your fault! It's your fault that the moon isn't made of cheese! It's your fault that Italy is shaped like a boot! It's your fault that McDonald's didn't put enough salt on my French fries that one time! It's your fault that my economy is in the crapper! It's your fault there's a ghost in my closet that won't stop singing Billy Joel songs all night! It's your fault my citizens are suddenly getting interested in boring soccer! It's your fault that—"

Russia groaned and hung up. He refused to answer, and once America realized that, she began to text him.

_hjeey i kno yer thar ansser_

_i thnk yar weerd_

_prusii sys yerdumm but he is_

_were ar you_

_com here_

After that, she had sent him three picture texts, all of which she had written 'LAWL' over. One was a picture of Gilbird holding a tiny American flag, one was incredibly blurry, as if the phone had been dropped, and one was of Denmark attempting to spin on his head. Then there was the video, which was inexplicably a seven-second long recording of America wiggling her toes.

Russia snorted and then threw off his covers. If America wanted him there, then fine. He was on his way.

***

The bar she was at so happened to be in Hamburg, and once Russia arrived, he found her and her friends leaving, apparently heading home. Denmark was doing his best to keep America upright while struggling to keep his own balance. Prussia, meanwhile, had given up and was lying face-down on the sidewalk, singing some old Celine Dion song at the top of his lungs.

Russia stepped out of his taxi and once Denmark saw him, the guy froze, his eyes widening. Russia simply walked over, grabbed America, threw her over his shoulder and then said goodbye. Denmark sort of half-heartedly attempted to get his friend back, but Prussia ended up hugging Denmark's legs and causing the Dane to topple.

America sat in the backseat with Russia and immediately flopped over like a limp noodle, sprawling out on him a bit. She sighed, the smell of alcohol strong on her breath.

"Vaaaaanyaaaaaa," she said happily. "Yaaaaay!"

"Da, I have come to get you so you can stop texting me. We will be arriving at my home shortly."

"In Moscow?" America began to shake her head, sloppily moving to jump out of the moving vehicle. "No! I don't wanna go to the Death Star!"

Russia held her down so she wouldn't kill herself and she sighed, apparently forgetting what she was going to do before she suddenly turned and poked his nose.

"Sorry I called you a cucumber. You're a carrot."

"What?"

America rolled her eyes, as if she couldn't have possibly made herself clearer. "Well, like, you know, carrots are vegetables, but they're the best vegetable. And even though they're a veggie, they're good, so I like them, but I'd think they were evil because they're related to lima beans. Get it?"

Her drunken rambling only made a little bit of sense, but Russia decided she was attempting to compliment him.

"That is very sweet of you. If I am a carrot, you are a potato. I like potatoes."

"Awwwwww!" America actually teared up and placed a hand over her heart, as if she'd never heard such a kind thing spoken about her in her life. When America moved to give him a hug, Russia couldn't help but smile.

***

The next day, America woke up in her living room with a massive hangover and a post-it note attached to her forehead. Blearily, she pulled the note off and managed to make out what was written.

_Amaliji_ —

_There is coffee ready for you and I have taken care of the Billy Joel ghost in your closet. Don't say I never did anything nice for you._

— _Vanya_

Despite feeling ready to die from the sheer pain of her hangover, America smiled. What could she say? Sometimes, that insensitive asshole was a total carroty sweetheart.


	10. In Which Russia Discovers America's Secret Lab

Oh. Shit.

Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Oh, shit.

This was bad. Bad, bad, bad.

There weren't many things on Earth that scared Russia. _He_ was the one everyone was scared of. He was a terrifying symbol of power that fueled the nightmares of the weak.

But he did have a few fears. Belarus, for one. The world suddenly running out of vodka, for another. And England's cooking.

He was sure if England ever found out about just how terrified Russia was of his food, he would be able to weaponize it. Hell, England could probably take over the world if he so wished just by threatening to force people to eat his food.

Lithuania had helpfully informed Russia that England was attempting to cater the meeting and had forced poor New Zealand and Malaysia into downing a few bites of his putrid creation, and thus the two of them had ended up being rushed to the hospital. Everyone was running for their lives, including Russia.

The first place Russia attempted to hide was a storage closet, but when he opened it, he discovered that Prussia, Austria and Hungary were already in there, all of them bickering. He would almost rather face England's cooking than be stuck in a closet with _Prussia_ , so he had quickly slammed the door shut and raced off elsewhere. The building was huge, there _had_ to be a place to hide.

It was more difficult than he thought. He even had the displeasure of nearly locking himself in a room with Belarus, who had come out of nowhere to happily yell about being trapped in a room, _alone_ , with him. He couldn't sprint out of that room fast enough.

Russia eventually found an empty, Belarus-free room and looked around in fear, the hair on the back of his neck raising as he heard what sounded distinctly like England's whistling coming toward him in the hall outside, following by the island nation mumbling, "Bugger, where's everyone wandered off to, then?"

Russia would not be found. He would _not_ be a victim of England's killer food.

Ducking inside a closet, he sighed happily, taking a few steps back to find the back of the closet, but all that he ended up doing was finding a cold metal wall. He blinked and turned, leaning back so he could get a good look at it. The wall was just silver metal and there was a small red button right in the center.

"Hm. What does this button do?" Russia pressed it curiously and suddenly, the floor beneath him gave out. He fell and fell and fell and, at one point, a blinking blue sign to him to keep his arms and feet inside the vehicle at all times. He had no clue what that was all about until he landed in some kind of small rollercoaster and was jetted down a steel track. He was eventually flung from the car and landed in the middle of what appeared to be a laboratory that was decorated with Clint Eastwood posters and blinking machines.

Russia got over the surprise in a few minutes and shakily stood up, looking around. Somewhere he could hear Aerosmith blaring and someone else was singing along horribly. When he spied a giant poster of the Justice League on the wall he knew exactly who this room belonged to.

He followed the singing and, sure enough, ended up finding America. She was hunched over a large metal table and seemed to be welding something. A pair of goggles was pressed over her eyes and she was completely decked out in a lab coat. Standing beside her was Tony, watching quietly as she worked and occasionally handing her tools when she asked for them.

America suddenly jumped back as whatever she was working on whirred to life. Throwing her hands up triumphantly, America threw her head back and laughed, long and loud.

"Bwah-hah-hah-hah! It's aliiiiiive!" As America cheered, Tony walked over to an open laptop and played a sound effect of booming thunder and shone a flashlight a bit, as if going for a lightning effect. "Rise, my precious!"

Russia watched, mouth agape, as a giant robot got to it's feet. It was painted red, white and blue and regarded America and Tony.

"We did it, Tony!" America said, throwing an arm around her alien friend's shoulders. "It took me a whole two weeks, a personal worst, but I did it!"

_Two weeks_?! Russia nearly had to sit down. He felt ready to hyperventilate. With this sort of technology and weaponry, what was he supposed to do?! What was _anyone_ supposed to do? They were all doomed!

But he had forgotten one little detail: it was _America_ he was talking about. He should have known she wasn't going to use it for a weapon. The thought probably hadn't even crossed her mind… yet.

"This is the greatest nutcracker _ever_! It can crack five hundred walnuts at once! I'm naming it 'Liberty Bell'! No, wait, that implies it could break. Um… how about Schwarzkopf? Or, uh… hm… maybe something peanut-related? 'Nutjob'! 'Nutballs'! 'Peanut Brittle'!"

Russia grew bored with America and turned to find something useful. Perhaps he could steal something that was actually somewhat dangerous, or something that could be _potentially_ dangerous. But everything she had down there seemed to be filled to the brim with crap like that oversized nutcracker she'd spent two weeks making. He found absolute nonsense—a pair of goggles that could track down Coke. A pair of shoes that automatically walked you to the nearest candy shop. A radar system specialized in tracking down any potato-related foods with the settings on 'Freedom Fries'. Briefly he was interested in some kind of teleportation device, but he realized quickly that it could only teleport bananas and quiche.

In fact, most of the things she created seemed to be food-related. Russia wasn't sure why he was so surprised, but he was. At least, momentarily. He finally just decided to leave and nearly barreled America over.

"The good news is we can get to work on that suit that attracts hotdogs now that the Master of Peanuts is complete," she was saying. "And I have the blueprints for the crackerjack synthesizer compl—hey!"

Russia froze. He couldn't believe he'd been caught. He was such a fool! What was she going to do to him?

"What are you doing down here?" America cocked her head to the side, looking a bit confused. "You kept your arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times, right? Because I am not liable for any injury sustained on the—"

"Um… _da_ , I did." Russia began to wonder if he should make a break for it. Was she angry? He couldn't tell.

"Well, damn skippy, I'll give you the tour!" America flung an arm around his shoulders. "What brings you down here, anyway, big guy?"

Russia was still a little edgy, but he had to wonder if America would understand the need to flee England's food. And once he was done telling her, she sure as hell looked mortified.

"He's trying to _what_?" America hurried over to some oversized computer and brought up security cameras. She groaned as she watched the image of England wander around the building, looking for victims. "That's why this laboratory was created! My first invention was created after England brought those disgusting crumpets into that meeting in Versailles. I'm pretty sure my toilet still hasn't forgiven him for that, if you know what I mean. I've got this covered."

America then hurried through the lab, grabbed some kind of ray gun, and beckoned Russia into an elevator. The two of them were immediately catapulted up some kind of tube and landed—America on her feet, Russia on his ass—right in front of England.

"Amelia!" England said, a huge smile on his face. "Try some of my—oh. Oh, no, not _that_."

"Yes _that_." America leveled the gun and winked. "Say goodnight, Gracie!"

"No! Please, no!" England begged.

Russia watched, amused, as America shot a beam at the charred, oozing plate of who-knew-what. The entire thing was gone in one small explosion, leaving America looking triumphant, Russia looking both proud and relieved, and England looking devastated, as if she had just shot his unicorn. He kind of just stood there, shell-shocked, as he stared at the smoking remains of his slop.

"And once again the day is saved thanks to… _America_!" Amelia pumped a fist in the air.

" _Da_ , how impressive." Russia eyed the ray gun, both fascinated and wary. "Tell me, does this only destroy England's food?"

"That and escargot."

Russia sighed. "Have you made _anything_ that isn't food-related?"

America laughed. "Jeez, guy, what do you take me for?" Russia at first thought that she was implying that _of course_ she worked on dangerous weapons down there until she added, "No way! Food is tip-top priority!"

Russia eyed her quietly. "You are a very strange person, _lapushka_."

Of course, Russia internally added that he liked her that way. Not that she ever had to know that.


	11. In Which Russia Kidnaps America, But She Doesn't Really Mind

Russia had really, really meant to be a bit more brutal in this kidnapping, but it was kind of hard to kidnap someone who was pretty on board with the whole idea.

Maybe it would have gone according to plan if America hadn't spotted him in the reflection of the window. She had been at home, staring out the window and smiling as she watched hummingbirds sipping sugar water from her feeders. Summer really was the best season, and naturally there was no better country to enjoy summer in than the good old U.S. of A!

Russia, meanwhile, had meant to break into America's house and steal her away back to Moscow, where he would then torture her and force her submission to his indomitable will. The world would soon know that Russia was a true force to be reckoned with, a force strong enough to bring someone as powerful as America to her knees!

It was a simple cloth and chloroform thing. All he had to do was sneak up behind her, knock her out, drag her back, throw her in a cell and torture her for a few weeks, maybe months. Maybe she'd even eventually develop Stockholm syndrome and then she wouldn't even _want_ to leave.

Yes. His plan simply had to work. It had to!

He was successful in breaking in despite her stellar security systems and was tip-toeing up behind her when America spied him in her window. Before Russia could even think of pressing the cloth against her nose, America had whirled around and, in a few simple shoves and kicks, she had knocked Russia flat on his ass and was poised to kick his teeth in.

Luckily, she stopped mid-kick and gaped at him before she threw her head back and laughed. "Jeez, I thought you were a burglar or something! What the hell are ya doin'?!"

Russia sighed in defeat as America actually helped him up. He then watched as she spied the cloth and frowned, the dots connecting in her brain.

"Were you going to knock me out or something?" she asked. Russia nodded forlornly, too depressed to even try to lie, and America let out a low whistle. "Well sheee-oot. Were you gonna kidnap me?"

" _Da_ , I was. But this plan was an utter failure." Russia turned and began to slowly drag his feet to the door. "My apologies for bothering you. Have a nice day, Amerika."

"Where the hell are you going?!" America grabbed his arm and yanked him back. "You're not even going to try again?!"

Unsure if he heard her right, Russia paused and then stared at her for a few long moments. "…What?"

"You're real quick to give up on a dream!" America sighed and shook her head like she was disappointed in him. "Personally, I would have done a sort of caveman style knock-out. Just a simple smack over the head and it's lights out!"

"…Are you asking me to club you over the head, Amelia?"

"Dammit! I have to do _everything_ in this kidnapping, don't I?!" America then, to Russia's utter confused fascination, grabbed her baseball bat and hit herself over the head with it, albeit not hard enough to black out. Instead, she comically threw herself to the ground and just sort of laid there, all limp. Russia even saw her open an eye to see if he was going to drag her off anytime in the near future; once she realized he was watching her, she quickly closed her eye and feigned being out cold again.

Deciding not to waste such an ample opportunity, Russia snatched America up and hurried out of her house toward the nondescript black car waiting outside. Russia had convinced Lithuania into driving it with his wonderful coercion skills (i.e. via threatening to beat him mercilessly with his metal pipe) and quickly got into the backseat with America, who was still as limp as an overcooked noodle.

"Y-you actually did it!" Lithuania stared at them in shock in the rearview mirror until Russia snapped his fingers impatiently.

"Drive!"

And they were off.

* * *

This was not as satisfying as Russia had intended it to be. His dreams involved America cowering in fear, America sobbing in defeat, America on her knees. Instead, she was lounging on his bed, munching on a bag of chips and watching a rerun of _Seinfeld_.

"So who's your favorite?" America was asking, chewing loudly and no doubt getting crumbs all over Russia's duvet. "I like George. You seem like a Kramer guy."

Russia was sulking at the foot of his bed, unable to even _try_ to be threatening at this point. All his attempts had been futile. He'd tried to smack her with his magic pipe of pain and America had assumed he'd wanted to play baseball and kept "accidentally" hitting him in the nuts with a ball while they played catch. Then he had tried to strangle her and America had assumed he'd wanted to play wrestle and had managed to pin him to the ground and make him say "uncle". And then he'd attempted to lock her in a cell in his basement, but America had laughed so hard she started crying because she thought it was a "funny prank" and then proceeded to break out of the cell after quoting the hell out of _Orange is the New Black_. And _then_ Russia had decided to attempt to molest her but she thought he was trying to tickle her and declared a tickle war, which was probably the worst thing Russia had ever been subjected to in his life. At this point, he had simply give up.

The real problem now was going to be getting America to leave his place. She hadn't even tried to escape _once_. Not a single attempt. Clearly she had no qualms about loitering around his home, eating his food and watching his television without having to lift a single finger to do any work. If he wasn't mistaken, this was certainly no kidnapping. This was a damn _vacation_.

"No opinion, huh?" America asked once Russia didn't reply as he was too busy sulking about America being impossible to terrorize. "Woah, you look like someone just kicked your dog."

Russia sighed and stood up from where he had been sitting at the end of his bed and looked at America. "I think it's time you should probably go home. Isn't your boss wondering where you are? Or your friends? Don't you think they're worried about you?"

"What? Dude, this is a kidnapping. No one's supposed to know where I am! Duh!" America moved closer to him, setting her bag of chips down so she could give him a smack on the forehead.

Russia was even more frustrated than before and was definitely annoyed with the forehead smack. "To be honest, Amelia, this doesn't feel like a kidnapping. This feels like you are, how do you say it… slumming around at my place, _da_?"

"You want this to feel more authentic?" America nodded in understanding. "Sorry. How selfish of me! I was just having so much fun! Here."

With that, America ran off the bed after ripping his blankets off of his mattress, threw the door open and turned to glare at him over her shoulder, posing heroically, the covers trailing behind her like a cape.

"I'm going to _escape_!" Her voice was loud and booming off the walls. Russia's mouth fell open as she then fled the room.

Russia's reaction was like that of a cat spying a laser pointer. He sprung off his bed and raced after her, finding her at the end of the hallway with the window thrown open wide and frantically tying his blankets together into some kind of makeshift rope so she could climb out the window (despite the fact that they were still on the first floor of his house, but Russia appreciated the effort).

"No!" America abandoned the blankets and raced off in a different direction—to the front entrance. Russia hurried after her and found her just as she was flinging the door open. "HAHAHA! WHAT A FOOL! I'M HOME FREE! I'M ON TOP OF THE WORLD! I'M—"

Russia quickly tackled her, dragged her back inside and then shut the door and locked it. America pouted underneath him.

"Ah, phooey. Guess that didn't work. Oh well!" With that, she waited for Russia to get up and bring her to her feet before he redirected them both to the living room. "Hey, can we have pizza tonight?"

As she was ordering fifty large pizzas with all the fixings, Russia realized he had just blown his big chance to let her escape. Boy, did he sure feel like an idiot.

* * *

"I CAN'T TAKE THIS!"

America jumped from where she sat, gaping as Russia suddenly leapt off the sofa and turned to glare at her. They had been watching seven hours of _The Twilight Zone_ in total peace and America had been on her fifteenth bag of chips when Russia had very suddenly decided to flip shit on her for no good reason!

"Woah, woah, woah! Dude! Indoor voices!"

Russia ignored that and pointed at her furiously. "YOU. LEAVE. NOW."

"Awww, what?!" America pouted and crossed her arms over her chest. "I don't wanna!"

"I don't care what _you_ want!" Russia quickly grabbed her off the sofa and began to drag her towards his front door. "This is a _kidnapping_! MY kidnapping! And if I say you have to leave, you _LEAVE_!"

" _Noooooo_ —"

"DA! YOU GO NOW!" Russia flung the door open and attempted to shove her out, but America dug her heels into the floor and shook her head frantically.

"You can't make me! I'm a free citizen! I do what I want!" America quickly squirmed out of his grip and then raced off into the recesses of Russia's massive house. "YOU CAN'T CATCH ME, RUSKI!"

Russia quickly raced after her, following her from room to room until he managed to corner her in one of the guest rooms. America pouted as he grabbed her forearms and attempted to once more kick her out.

"You can bet I'm going on Better Business Bureau to let them know what sort of terrible treatment I've just received!" America ranted. "See if you get any tourists after _this_ little stunt!"

Russia managed to get her back to his doorway and was attempting to push her out of his house. She had her arms and legs braced on the doorframe, however, and was attempting to get back inside.

"GO!"

"NO!"

"GO AWAY!"

"NEVER!"

"GET OUT!"

Suddenly America twisted in his arms and batted her eyelashes, her tone becoming what could only be described as 'smoldering'.

"There's _nothing_ I can do to convince you to let me stay?"

Russia paused and blinked, quite taken with how dark her blue eyes had just become. Was America propositioning sex? Because if so, count him in 100%.

Once his arms were lax enough, America coaxed them both back into his place and kicked the door shut behind her. Playing with the buttons on his coat, she nuzzled his chin as she began to guide them further into the house.

"Well _that_ got your attention, _da_?" she purred. She had moved on from the buttons of his coat to play with his hair.

"Uh… _da_."

America rolled onto her tip-toes until her lips just barely brushed his. A spark of electricity ran through Russia's body at the small contact as he tightened his grip on her, any plans to kick her out now so far out of his mind that it was like they'd never been there at all. His body was warming up fast and apparently America was just as impatient as he was to get this show on the road because she suddenly attacked his mouth, gripping his hair tightly to keep him in place.

Russia groaned, lifting her up off the ground. She wrapped her legs around his waist and opened her mouth, allowing Russia to eagerly shove his tongue down her throat. America made a few happy noises as one of her hands moved south and attempted to finagle with the buttons of his coat.

They managed to stumble back to Russia's sofa, their kisses getting deeper and Russia getting seriously warmer and more eager to start to get rid of clothing when his front door flew open to reveal a very angry British man.

" _There_ you are!" England stomped forward as Russia and America looked at him, annoyed and angry at his cockblocking. "For God's sake, would you two get away from each other?! Amelia, get your bloody arse back home!"

"No!"

"Did you just say 'no' to me?!" England's voice became incredibly parental and Russia could feel America shrink a bit underneath him. "Get _up_. You can't just skip out on work because you want to make out with some delinquent vodka-addict!"

"Take that back!" America snapped, climbing out from under Russia to point at England angrily. "He has a name!"

"Well, isn't that nice?" England quickly took America's arm and began to lead her to the door, America sulking the whole way. "I swear, someone takes their eyes off you for two minutes and you're off gallivanting with the nearest hooligan you can find!"

"Whatever."

"Don't you 'whatever' me!" England opened the door. "Say goodbye to Russia! You're going home! You have work to do!"

"You're ruining my life!"

"So be it!"

America turned and pouted, giving Russia an apologetic look. "Sorry my stupid brother is a lameass. I'll see ya."

Russia sat there, gaping and half-hard, as the two left his house. Immediately his home fell into total silence save for _The Twilight Zone_ playing in the background.

How on Earth had England managed to force America to leave just by demanding she do so? It must've been a family thing. Russia began to clean America's mess and was a bit confused when he was slightly disappointed that she was gone.

* * *

Two nights later, someone snuck into Russia's bedroom through a window he was sure he had locked. He woke up to find America tying him up with some rope.

"Oh, hey." She wiggled her eyebrows at him. "I'm kidnapping you. I called ahead to see if you were busy and I cleared your schedule for, like, the next week. Oh, it's pretty warm at my place right now, hope you don't mind."

Russia blinked, surprised, and then smiled as America continued to tie him up, suddenly very eager to be kidnapped.


	12. In Which Russia and America are Well and Truly Found Out

"Next up to present is America," Switzerland said, motioning for the nation in question to hurry up with it. "Come along, we don't have all day."

America, who had been reading a comic book rather than paying attention, was elbowed by England and shot up from her seat in surprise. After realizing she was supposed to give her presentation, she grabbed some folders and then hurried to the head of the table. In a matter of moments, she was prepared and even excitedly said she would be presenting with a PowerPoint to "spice things up a bit".

"Okie-dokie," America said, sifting through her notes. "I wanna talk about our Earth today."

"Is this _another_ plan to destroy global warming scheme, America?" England spoke up, clearly annoyed. "Because if it is, perhaps you should just take a seat and save us all the—"

" _No_ ," America snipped. "If you would just _listen_ to me talk then you'd realize I wasn't going to talk about global warming _again_. Do I have your permission to continue?"

Her tone was absolutely bitchy, but England didn't comment on it, instead just nodding and letting her continue.

"Thank you," she said snidely. "Now, I wanna talk about our Earth. Did you know we know more about the stars in our skies, millions of billions of light-years away, than we know about our own Earth? With situations like global warming, the increasing usage of non-renewable resources and pollution, I, and several other nations, feel it would be wise to explore our Earth in order to find solutions to our existing problems."

She was speaking with surprising intelligence. It wasn't a secret that underneath the bravado and big talk America was a closet genius. Not a 'someday I'll invent cold fusion' genius, but a crazed 'I might invent cold fusion if it means I'll be able to blow up the whole world' genius. Nonetheless, she was a genius.

The gathered nations murmured amongst each other with interest as America beamed, happy to have gotten such a positive reaction, considering that wasn't typically the case.

"I, of course, have gathered some of my best scientists to begin test studies and field research," she said. "I have also made some agreements with the Russian Federation in an effort to further our studies in—"

"One moment," England said, standing up. America stopped talking and rolled her eyes, knowing full well what was coming. "With _Russia_?!"

"Yes, with Russia," America replied shortly. "He said he was interested when I brought it up with him a few weeks ago, so we entered an agreement. We'll be providing funds, research, studies—"

"A few weeks ago?" England echoed. "The bloody hell are you talking about?! You two have been making business deals in secret for weeks?!"

"What else have you two been doing together in secret?" France asked suggestively. He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively as he pulled a rose out from nowhere and deeply inhaled. "Ah, _amour_ , you never fail to amuse!"

"None of that ' _amour_ ' bullshit, you git!" England snapped, turning to smack that rose out of France's hands. It fell to the ground and the romance nation stared at it as if England had just performed a perversion even he couldn't condone. "There is no ' _amour_ ' going on here!"

"What would you know about love, you cruel, heartless tyrant?!" France wailed, picking up the rose from the ground. He delicately set it on the tabletop and then turned his furious glare to England. "You, with your snide voice and your bad teeth and your horrible haircut!"

"Some of us have things to do that are more important than styling our hair for _hours_!" England replied angrily. "And despite what you think, not _everyone_ is having sex with each other all the time!"

"Speak for yourself!"

"Alright, can we get back on track?" America interrupted. She glanced across the room and met Russia's amused eyes. "The fact of the matter is that this is just a business deal. Right?"

" _Da_ , I'm sorry it's nothing more exciting than that," Russia said amiably.

France pouted while England's chest puffed up proudly and America went back to her presentation, turning on the projector to begin her PowerPoint. She ignored the collective gasps that came over the room when the projector turned on, simply deciding it must have been because of how awesomely put-together her PowerPoint was.

"Alright," she said. "Now according to my statistics, if we begin with a field study sometime in April with an income of—"

" _Mia_ ," Canada hissed, frantically trying to get his sister's attention. He waved his arms about until she looked his way. " _Mia_ , your PowerPoint, it's… um…"

America huffed, annoyed with the interruption, and glared at him before she turned to look at the projection. "What? What could possibly… oh. Oh, no."

Instead of a neat, business-like projection showing numbers and charts, a big personal photo was visible. It showed Russia sitting on a beach in a pair of brightly-colored swim trunks and a ridiculous mustard yellow Hawaiian shirt and sunglasses. Nearby stood America, knee-deep in clear ocean water, clad in a sparkly Supergirl bikini, grinning at the camera.

America let out a horrified shriek. "No, no, no! No, that's nothing, it's nothing, it's not anything ever! STOP STARING!"

"I am afraid I cannot," France purred. "You have a mouthwatering bosom! It is worthy of poetry!"

" _Bloody wanker_!" England roared, punching France across the face hard enough to send the nation falling out of his chair.

"This isn't anything about anything! It's not relevant!" America frantically switched to the next slide, hoping to find her graphs and charts, but instead she was met with another picture, this one in selfie-style of the two of them posing in front of St. Basil's Cathedral. Russia had an arm looped around her waist and America was giving the camera a big smile, her cheeks and nose red from the cold. " _NOOOO_!"

Everyone was quietly speaking with each other, both alarmed and amused as America began to freak out. Russia, meanwhile, kept smiling, apparently not too upset with the situation.

"This isn't even a real picture!" America was saying hurriedly. "No, these are all fake, Photoshopped!"

"Why would you Photoshop yourself into pictures with Russia?" Prussia asked smugly. Despite the fact that America was his friend, he couldn't help but make her squirm a bit.

" _I_ didn't do it! Russia did! He hacked into my computers because he's a villain! I would never—"

America then switched to another slide and there was a picture, one of the ones that are taken on rides that you can buy once you get off. This one showed America and Russia sitting in a swan-shaped boat, the two of them undeniably cuddling and grinning at the camera. " _The Tunnel of Love_ " was written in looping pink script above them, complete with hearts and cupids all around it.

"No! Shit, no! He's gross, he's a meanie loser-face jerky-jerk!" America babbled. "I don't like him at all, this is all a farce, I swear!"

"Ve~ I think it's cute!" Italy said cheerfully.

"Me, too!" France said from where he was still laying on the ground. England kicked him furiously to get him to shut up.

"Me, too," Canada spoke up, turning a bit red when America glared at him. "What? You guys are cute, eh!"

"We hate each other!" America pointed out.

"Apparently not," France sing-songed, dodging another attempted kick from England. "Besides, hatred is how the best romances start out, _non_?"

"Well, this is all a dirty lie!" America announced. "We _do not_ —"

The slide switched, showing them both cuddled under a blanket in what was undeniably Russia's house in what was undeniably Russia's bed, drinking what appeared to be hot cocoa, although America's cup had so many marshmallows in it that it was hard to actually tell. It wasn't out of the realm of possibility that America was simply drinking a cup of marshmallows, either, though.

"Uh," she stuttered. "Erm, no, we do not _like_ each other—"

Another slide showed a picture of them cosplaying, America dressed up as Harley Quinn and Russia as a very convincing Joker.

"—we do not _enjoy each other's company_ —"

Another slide showed America placing a cowboy hat on Russia's head, the both of them obviously in an old-fashioned replica saloon.

"—and furthermore, we _hate_ each other. With all this technology these pictures could be of _anybody_ , for Christ's sake!"

One more slide showed them in Paris, locking a padlock with ' _Vanya and Mia_ ' written on it to a bridge.

"May I say something?" Russia asked. Everyone turned to look at him and America relaxed, apparently thinking he was going to fix the situation. And he did, but he fixed the situation in a way that he found suitable. "It is true. America and I are lovers."

" _Oh my God_!" America shrieked as the nations all began to laugh and gossip, attempting to guess how long the two of them had actually been seeing each other. Sure, America and Russia flirted and engaged in inappropriate touching, but no one would have guessed that they were so… well, couple-ish.

There was only one person freaking out more than America, and that was Belarus. She stood, her face red and furious, and everyone fell silent. Russia sank down in his seat as his sister turned to glare at him.

"This is all lies! It must be!" Belarus said with impassioned fury. America at first was nodding along enthusiastically, but her face began to fall and turn angry as Belarus went on. "My brother wouldn't touch that hamburger whore when he has someone like _me_. Brother is mine! He is going to marry me, and—"

America suddenly was upon Belarus, her own special aura of intimidation oppressing the nearby nations.

"You do not scare me!" Belarus snapped. Even still, she took a careful step back as America's eyes narrowed. "Brother loves _me_ , not you!"

"Oh, really?" America snarled. "Because he sure wasn't screaming _your_ name last night!"

Belarus gasped, horrified, as did England. France began to laugh and applaud loudly while Russia stood up, a big smile on his face, and grabbed America, throwing her over his shoulder. America seemed to have shocked herself into a state of silence with her behavior and announcement and just sort of went along with it as Russia excused them both and left the room.

Everyone was silent, except for France, who was still chortling, and Switzerland stood up, his face red and his expression furious.

"I think that concludes our meeting for today. We'll meet two hours earlier tomorrow to make up for lost time."

Everyone began to clear out, save for England, Canada and France.

"I don't bloody understand why you two prats are so happy," England said, his whole body tense. "Why would anyone want her to be going at it with someone like _Russia_?!"

"Well, I mean, really, who else can really handle Mia, eh?" Canada said. "And who can really handle him? I think it's just a good match. And clearly they have fun together."

England huffed, but didn't comment, instead turning to glare at France. "Well? What's your excuse?"

"Hm?" France smiled a bit dreamily. "It just warms my heart to think of those two… you know, making vigorous love to each other."

Even Canada made a face at that and England groaned, looking ready to throw up. "Oh, dear Lord, that's disgusting."

"What? _Russie_ is not doubt ravaging _Amérique's_ body as we speak!" France sighed. "If I could be a fly on the wall!"

"That's it!" England lunged at France, the both of them soon descending into a violent fistfight while Canada rolled his eyes and tried to get all the scarring mental images France had just put in his mind out of his head. He was happy for his sister, really, but the thought of _that_ … oh, maple, that was just gross.

* * *

Later that night, Russia was in his hotel room with America completely passed out next to him, mouth open, snoring, 'the whole shebang', as she would put it. He was immensely satisfied with how today had gone over.

America had been telling the truth, kind of. Russia _had_ hacked into her systems, but instead of peeking into government secrets, he had merely replaced her presentation with their personal photos, mostly to mess with her and also to make it very clear she was taken.

Was what he had done an invasion of privacy, very sneaky and overall underhanded, and lacking morals? Yeah, probably. Did he regret it and feel ashamed by his actions?

Nope. Not one bit.


	13. In Which Russia and America's Date Is Rudely Interrupted

America and Russia were enjoying a snack. For once, both of them seemed content to enjoy each other's company in mutual silence—Russia was reading a book, mindlessly accepting the chips America kept offering him while she stared up at the sky and made pictures out of the clouds.

They were on a break from a meeting. Normally, America would go have some lunch with her brother or England or maybe Japan, but she had promised Russia that today she would eat her lunch with him. While she ate like a linebacker, munching her way through a few family-sized bags of chips, four hamburgers and a super-sized Coca-Cola, Russia seemed content to accept the small bits she offered him.

It was truly a beautiful sight. Two nations with so much horrible history between them, and still existing with such tensions between each other to this day, were sitting complacently by each other, simply enjoying the other's company.

They were sitting a little _too_ close, if you asked England.

He had been rather put out when America had denied his offer to take her to lunch. Given that England could count on one hand how many people he could tolerate for prolonged amounts of time, his options for eating partners was a bit limited. He had honestly been surprised when she'd said no, especially when he offered to pay and everything! It wasn't like America was exactly Miss Popularity!

So why, oh why, had she said no?!

He had been sulking on his way to some shitty French café that France was bringing him to now that England couldn't say he was already eating out with America. Honestly, that bitch had to have had a really, _really_ good reason to say no to make England go through such torment.

And then, lo and behold, he'd seen that adorably rancid display of rare mutual peace and companionship between two rival superpowers on a park bench in Versailles. America had been mid-offer with her chip bag and Russia had glanced up from his book to give her a smile before accepting a few. They then went back to enjoying each other's company.

It was _awful_. England thought he was going to vomit. He had ended up blindly grabbing the sleeve of France's shirt and then dove into some bushes, hiding them both from view while making spying on America and Russia much easier.

" _Mon dieu_!" France cried. "You mongrel! I might have gotten a grass stain on my suit!"

England stopped France from attempting to get up and give away their position, yanking him right back into the bushes with a furious look on his face.

"Don't you _dare_ move!" England snarled. "Look at that disgusting display over _there_!"

England then pointed at Russia and America. France finally spied them and, instead of being horrified or angry, his eyes became huge and he gasped, clutching a hand over his heart. A rose seemingly appeared from nowhere and England watched, dumbfounded as France inhaled the rose and sighed, his eyelashes fluttering like his heart was no doubt doing.

"What an exquisite display of beauty and true love!" France cooed, staring at America and Russia as he fanned himself. "I have not seen a love such as this in so very long!"

"What the bloody hell are you talking about, _love_?" England sneered. "They are sitting on a park bench! They aren't even speaking to each other! If anything, _he_ is a mistake America will be too embarrassed to acknowledge in several months' time."

"Scoff not, you grouchy old thing!" France admonished, flicking England's nose. England balked as France continued. "Just because _you_ don't believe in love doesn't mean it doesn't exist! I see proof right there on that bench!"

"They hate each other," England pointed out dryly. Despite the little PowerPoint display only a few months ago, he was in a state of absolute denial. At the very least, he thought they would be back to their old "we hate each other" shtick by now, but no. It was getting a bit alarming.

France giggled, practically vibrating with glee. "Well, it doesn't look that way from _this_ angle!"

While France fangirled and kept going on and on about true love and Cupid's bow and all that crap, England decided to let someone who would maybe be as furious as him know about America and Russia's current lovey-dovey status. It took him a few minutes to actually remember his name, and even then, he had to ask France in the end.

England had expected Canada to go full-on protective big brother mode. Sure, Canada had voiced his approval before, but perhaps seeing them actually _like this_ would make him angry. But how did Canada respond to England's text—which had been a picture of America and Russia sitting together?

:D!

That's right. ":D!"

Instead of an insane Canadian with a hockey stick and justifiable sibling rage, he got a smiley face emoji and an enthusiastic exclamation point.

Well. If Canada wasn't going to do anything about it, and if France was just going to ship it, England was going to take care of this problem.

He got up and stomped over. The most effective way to get through to either of them was to be direct. He stood in front of them, quickly garnering America's attention, although Russia was a bit too immersed in his book to take notice at first.

"Oh, heya, Iggy." America grinned. "Didja ditch Francis to come hang out with the cool kids?"

England valiantly resisted the urge to point out that Russia and America were both pretty high on the list of "Unpopular Nations", but if he hoped to get her away from that creep, he couldn't point out any common ground between them. Instead, he snorted and shook his head.

"What on _Earth_ are you doing here, Amelia? With _him_?"

America blinked, surprised, and then huffed. "None of your beeswax, that's what."

"We are simply enjoying the nice weather," Russia cut in, a bit annoyed at being distracted from his book. "We are also sharing food. I believe this qualifies as a 'picnic'?"

"It sure does by my standards!" America waved at England, as if saying goodbye. "Alright, now that your curiosity is sated, you can leave and go make out with France or whatever it is you do."

"I would _never_!" England scowled at his so-called closest ally. "Just why are you two spending time together? Since when do you enjoy each other's company?"

Russia ignored him and America let out loud laugh.

"Man, you are in a _world_ of denial!" she said cheerfully. "Let me tell you a little story about a super awesome nation and a heartless sociopath who found _love_. Well, an insane amount of crazy sex first. Then _love_."

Russia smiled gleefully while England looked like he would rather be talking about anything else, like cannibalism or circumcision or _anything_.

"One of these days, Amelia, you are going to drive me to the brink of insanity. Or perhaps I'll just convince France that it would be a good idea to declare war on you together. Sort of like history coming full circle."

America nodded, munching on a handful of chips. "You do that, Iggy. I'd love to have two more states."

Russia guffawed and he and America exchanged high fives. England sputtered angrily when America continued.

"Although I have to admit, war is a pretty weird idea for a date." She frowned and elbowed Russia lightly. "Doesn't seem very romantic."

Russia, meanwhile, sighed dreamily. "I think it would be a _wonderful_ idea. It has been far too long since I last saw you covered in the entrails of your fallen enemies while we fought side-by-side. I always did think you looked prettiest like that."

"Awww!"

England paled, realizing he had just possibly made a fatal mistake bringing up the subject of warfare. Panicking, he suddenly sat down in between America and Russia, halfway on both of their laps. Russia grunted and scooted away while America yelped, nearly dropping her chip bag and shoved England off of her, causing him to practically sprawl across Russia's lap.

"What's the big idea, limey?!" America grabbed more chips, eating far faster and far more angrily in light of this new situation.

"The big idea is that you are making a massive mistake and I am attempting to save you from further embarrassment." England crossed his arms over his chest. "Try as you might, you will not move me. Not until you rethink your life choices, Amelia."

America narrowed her eyes at England as he smugly reached into her chip bag and took a few, popping them into his mouth. He suddenly gasped and let out a groan.

"Bloody… what the hell is wrong with your crisps?!"

"Crisps? It's pronounced ' _chips_ ', Iggy." America rolled her eyes. "And what do you mean what's wrong with them? These are great!"

"Well, for one, I'm not entirely sure if I just ate them or if I just rubbed them all over my face." England groaned as America offered him her Cola and he downed a few large gulps, trying to get the taste out of his mouth. "Secondly, I'm a bit worried a single bite of that salty, oily nightmare may have just given me diabetes!"

"If you have nothing nice to say, shut your yapper," America snapped, elbowing him sharply. "Go be a crabby old fart somewhere else."

" _Oui_ , for once, our lovely _Amélie_ is correct." France suddenly grabbed England and attempted to drag him off the bench. "You are interrupting their lovely date, you buffoon! Just because you don't have a romantic bone in your body doesn't mean you must force others to live a life of celibacy as well!"

" _Celibacy_?!" England glared at France. "I am not _celibate_ , France!"

" _Non_? Making love to your hand does not count."

England began to shriek profanities while France dragged him away, finally leaving America and Russia alone once more.

"Your friends are strange," Russia observed, turning back to his book.

America sighed and rested her head on his shoulder, grabbing another handful of chips. "Tell me about it."


	14. In Which Russia and America Take Part in a Civil War Reenactment

America was very, very strange about what dates she liked to go on with Russia. It was never anything very typical or even relatively normal. Grabbing some dinner and then going to the movies was too "mundane", so they often ended up doing something more "exciting". And by "exciting", Russia meant "absolutely crazy".

She had once asked Russia if he wanted to go whale watching, which seemed sweet, but America had forgotten to mention they were actually going to be _killer_ whale watching. Also, it wasn't so much 'watching' as it was 'attempting to ride the backs of the killer whales like they were horses'. By the end of their "date", America had had to carry him back to Moscow, where she had deposited him in his boss's lap. That hadn't been humiliating _at all_. Not.

There had also been a date where he and America had gone to Mexico to enjoy some fun under the sun. At one point, America had spied a fire ant nest and told Russia to watch while she snuck up on the nest, nudged it with her foot and then fled as quickly as she could while a swarm of red ants spilled out. Unfortunately, Russia didn't flee quickly enough, given that America had failed to warn him about what would happen, and he had spent the rest of their date taking antihistamines and applying ammonia to all the blisters on his legs.

Once, America had arrived at his house with what she claimed was a flying bike—"Like in _E.T.,_ Vanya! Spielberg represent!"—and had attempted to coax him into sitting on the handlebars while they soared over the Baltic Sea together. Russia had rejected that idea outright, so he never found out if the bike actually flew. Instead, Russia had convinced her to do some sightseeing, which America had been interested in because she had been under the impression that his entire country was just a giant pile of snow. She had then been arrested for doing wheelies on one of his monuments even after he warned her she could get arrested just for standing too close to it. He had spent the better part of his night trying to get his boss to let her out of jail.

So, Russia had to admit, America's latest so-called date wasn't the weirdest he'd ever been on, but it still wasn't normal at all.

Firstly, he had yet to see America at all. Secondly, he was wearing a Union soldier's uniform, complete with the stupid ill-fitting shoes and everything. And lastly, he was supposed to be playing dead.

America had dragged him to a Civil War reenactment in some small town in Virginia. Russia had no clue why America would want to reenact the Civil War of all things, or why she'd think it was a good idea for a date.

He had been ditched about five minutes after arriving. About a second after the mock battle began, Russia had been "shot" and had now been laying on the grass, listening to gunfire and yelling for a good twenty minutes. This was possibly the worst date he'd ever been on. Sometimes he wondered why he was dating America in the first place.

"My stars!" A sweet, girlish voice that dripped with a Southern accent sounded from nearby and Russia craned his neck to see if it was who he thought it was. Sure enough, America stood there in a ridiculous looking white hoop-skirted dress decorated with patterns of red crosses.

America hurried forward and dramatically flung herself at the ground beside him. Gathering Russia in her arms, America threw her head back and proceeded to shed a few pretend tears.

"You poor, sweet man! Why? _Why_?"

Russia stared at America hard, unsure if he was allowed to move or speak. America clutched him tightly against her chest and then suddenly dropped her character.

"Can you believe the inauthenticity of this nonsense?" She let out an annoyed huff. "I told them, I said, 'I want to be a soldier'. And then they told me that women weren't soldiers in Civil War days, but they weren't _there_ , now were they? Because I'm a girl and I led armies to victory! They stuffed me in this stupid dress, which is inauthentic, by the way! Nurses had to wear plain clothes and furthermore, only ugly women could be nurses! I'm too sexy for this role!"

Russia glanced at the big hoop skirt and smiled. "I don't know, _lapushka_ , I kind of like the dress."

America then suddenly elbowed him so hard in the gut that Russia thought for sure he was going to throw up.

"You're ruining the reenactment!" America snapped. "Dammit, Ivan!"

Russia glared at her furiously, doing his best not to elbow her right back. "You are also breaking character, little one."

America seemed to be contemplating whether or not she should elbow him again before she just huffed and quickly went back into the role of a horrified nurse.

"Oh, Ashley! Why? _Why_?! Don't leave me, Ashley!" America once again clutched Russia to his chest and he did his best to look limp and dead. Apparently he did a bit _too_ good of a job because America suddenly jostled him worriedly. "Wait, Ivan, seriously, did you just die on me?"

Russia cracked open an eye and frowned at her. "Of course I didn't d— _AH_!"

America had, once again, elbowed him in the gut. " _No talking_! _You're dead_!"

Russia gnashed his teeth together and went limp again. America threw a fist up at the sky, a few glittering tears running down her face.

"Ashley, you said you'd never leave me! Why would you do this to me, Ashley?! Why?!" America then paused and rested a hand against her chest, giving Russia a big grin. "See, I figure our characters have this forbidden romance, right? So I'm from the South, and my dad owns this plantation, and you used to live nearby and we fell in love. But then you decided to fight for the North because that's where your family lives and stuff, so we were separated. And now I've found you dead on the battlefield. Pretty good, huh?"

Russia gave a small nod. He honestly didn't care if their characters had a backstory. The sun was beating on his face and for the first time in his life he really wished he were in a snowstorm in Siberia, because this heat was _crazy_.

"Hey! Dead people don't nod their heads! And they don't sweat, either!" America gave him a small warning jab and Russia began to seriously consider throwing her out of a building the next time he got a chance. Seriously. _Why was he dating her_?! This was _horrible_!

"Ashley! You promised! Why?" America then smacked him across the face. " _Why_?!"

"Don't hit me again," Russia warned.

"Shut up, Ivan! You're supposed to be _dead_! You're ruining this for me!"

" _I'm_ ruining this for _you_? That's it! I'm leaving!"

Russia began to stand up, but America grabbed a rogue shoe and smacked him hard over the head. Russia stumbled and America gasped, wiping away pretend tears.

"Oh, Ashley! Ashley, what have I done?! I've hit my beloved Ashley, who suddenly came to life again! Oh, woe is me! I've killed him!"

Russia groaned. "Stop—"

_SMACK_!

"No! Not again! What have I done?!"

" _Urgh_ —"

_SMACK_!

"And what do I continue to do?!"

Russia decided enough was enough. He grabbed his pretend bayonet and aimed right for America's chest. America was so surprised by his sudden movement that she was hit right in the heart.

"Oh, dear," Russia said, standing up. "It appears that because of my blood loss I mistook my beloved for a Confederate traitor. Oh, well. I am sure you will find peace in your death. Bye."

Well, mark this one down as another epic failure of a date. Russia huffed and headed off, prepared to simply go home.

" _Ivaaaaaan_ ," America whined, following him. "C'mon! Don't tell me you weren't having fun!"

Russia turned around and gave her the stink eye. "No, I didn't have any fun, Amelia. Want to know why?"

America puffed out her cheeks and then slowly shook her head no. "Nah, I'll pass, bro."

"I think I'll tell you anyway. I had to pretend to be a dead carcass that got hit by you repeatedly with a shoe and I think I have a sunburn now. Just once could we have a date that doesn't involve doing something that will potentially kill us? Something normal?"

America actually recoiled. "Normal? Like, something _boring_?!"

"I'm not saying we have to stay in my house and watch movies all day!" Russia snapped. "I'm just saying that I don't enjoy doing things like piranha herding—"

"You said you _loved_ piranha herding!"

" _Nyet_ , I did not."

"You said it with your _eyes_."

"Wrong."

"Ugh!" America threw her hands up. "There's no pleasing you!"

_Bang_! _Bang_!

Russia and America both froze and looked over at a very proud Confederate soldier. Russia rolled his eyes and began to walk away, but America tackled him to the ground.

"No, way! We are _dead_ now! You're not going anywhere!"

Russia struggled for a few moments before he accepted that it was useless to fight it. He glared at up at the sky while America lay beside him, stiff as a board and likely sporting an equally angry glare.

"Well, I hope you're happy," America finally snapped. "We're both going to have to lay here and be dead now and it's all your fault."

"That's your opinion," Russia replied shortly. "And it's wrong."

"Opinions aren't facts, you stupid Ruski."

"Practice what you preach."

America was quiet for a few moments before she sighed. "Okay, fine. Maybe going to the reenactment of a war isn't the most romantic idea for a date."

Russia didn't say anything, instead opting to treat her to a nasty bout of silent anger.

"Come on, man, I'm apologizing! Do you _know_ how rare this is? Come oooooon! I'll let you choose our next date! Just say you forgive me!" She turned her head to look at him and pout. When Russia wouldn't look at her, she got onto her knees and hovered over him, sticking out her bottom lip. "Please, Russia? Oh, please? Please, please, please, _pleeeeeaaaaassssse_? Please, please, please, please-y, please, please? Pretty please? Pretty please with a cherry on top? Pretty please with _two_ cherries on top? How about with _three_ cherries? Four? _Five_?! _How many cherries will it take_?!"

Russia ground his teeth together as America took a big inhale of breath, apparently ready to go on another childish please rant and he quickly smacked his hand over her mouth.

"If I forgive you, you must _shut up_ for the rest of this event, _da_? Can you manage that?"

"The quiet game? Got it!" America gave him a thumbs up before she flopped onto the ground, this time hugging him. "I've gotta warn you, though, I'm _really_ bad at this game. I lose every single time."

"I'm sure you'll manage," Russia replied tightly.

She didn't even last five minutes.


End file.
